


Did You Miss Me?

by cloakoflife



Category: The Libertines
Genre: Angst, M/M, Swearing, Violence, dub con, general messed up-ness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-22 05:38:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6067195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloakoflife/pseuds/cloakoflife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to Snap Out of It. Carl’s got Dirty Pretty Things and Annalisa and doesn’t need Peter any more, right? <br/>Just one-part for the time being. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Did You Miss Me?

**Lambeth, London**  
 **Late August 2005.**  
The night drew dark around me, warm and close as I wandered through the foul, winding back alleys of my favourite south-east dives. I was feeling good, lost, alone, invincible, riding high on the cocktail of drugs pumping through my system. It had been a fun few nights and days, running with the boys, drinking and snorting away any such pesky annoyances as ‘thoughts’ or ‘emotions’, focussing only on searching for that _perfect_ _nothingness_ which felt so good after so many years of constant torture, pain and agony. I knew that I was being reckless, knew that this was somehow all going to fail and fall down around my ears, but it was the only way I could keep going. I’d made a decision, a decision to live. Or at least, to survive. And surviving meant carrying on, putting one foot in front of the other, no matter what.  
  
 _Yes, surviving doesn’t mean killing yourself with drink and drugs to escape though._ A part of my brain unhelpfully argued. I shook the voice away. Baby steps. One vice at a time. I’d get there. Or not. Whatever, really. For now I’d decided after four or five days away, I should probably head over to Annalisa’s to check in. She’d be livid, I’d lost my phone at some point over the last week and except for a couple of one-word texts off Anthony’s, she hadn’t heard from me at all. She’d be furious, that funny little vein in her head popping, biting her lip and lowering her head, fighting to hold back her tears. I grinned to myself. I liked her angry. Liked her with a bit of fight. Liked backing her against the wall and sliding my hands down her sides, making her tremble as she tried to quell her own body’s responses. Liked watching the war in her eyes as I grabbed her roughly by the chin, forcing her to meet my gaze and pinned her with an intense stare. Liked to watch her fall apart as I slowly trailed my fingers down her neck to her breast, pinching harshly at her nipple…  
  
Lost in my own lusty drunken thoughts, I blindly turned the corner walking straight into a clenched fist. I hit the ground, vision swimming with black, barely holding on to consciousness. Through the ringing in my ears I heard a familiar laugh and I looked up too quickly, startled. My vision swam dangerously and I groaned. The laugh came again and I raised my head, slower this time.   
  
The face of Peter Doherty, a face I hadn’t seen in 8 long months, smirked down at me menacingly.   
“Hello lover,” he said, mockingly, before his boot connected with my temple and my reality dissolved.   
  
***  
 ** _Camden, 1998_**  
 _As his eyes fluttered open, I saw the exact moment he registered the danger. He’d been so peaceful, lying there naked and unconscious. He looked almost as if he was sleeping. And god, he was beautiful when he was sleeping. Like an angel. So perfect. And mine, mine to own. Mine to destroy. But then, as his current reality began to drip and then flood into his awareness, his eyes dilated with confusion, uncertainty and then fear. He pulled gently, testing, almost as if he didn’t want me to notice, against the ropes that tied him to the bed. Only when he realised he was stuck fast, did he look up to meet my eyes where I lay stretched out next to him on the bed._  
  
 _“Hello lover,” I purred, mockingly. “Did you have a good sleep?”_  
  
 _“What the fuck Carl? You knocked me out? That fucking hurt.”_  
  
 _I pouted._ _“You fucking asked for it. Talking ‘bout sleeping with that whore waitress while I’m trying to fuck you. You’re lucky I didn’t stab you. S’what you deserve.”_  
  
 _“Carl we were just sat having a conversation! And I said she makes a good fry up and I wouldn’t mind inviting her over to cook for u-“_  
  
 _I shoved my hand over his mouth, bored. “Ugh! Shut the fuck up. I don’t want to hear you talk right now, okay? I just want to fuck you. Now can you stay quiet or do I have to gag you?” He widened his eyes and I removed my hand, testing._  
  
 _“Carl it’s not really th-“_  
  
 _“FOR FUCK’S SAKE!” I raged, and yanked the belt from my jeans and wrapping it around his head, effectively gagging him. It unfortunately meant I couldn’t kiss those pretty little lips, but I wasn’t really in a kissing mood. I took a hold of my cock, stroking myself to hardness, staring at every inch of this boy that had become my live-in toy and play-thing. I took in the bites, the scratches and welts that criss-crossed his perfect skin and each one made me harder. I reached down to press my fingers into a particularly dark bit on his shoulder, pushing hard. Peter shuddered, desperately. Pathetically. He wanted me so badly, it was ridiculous. He wanted all of it, the pain, the pleasure, the debasement. Everything I gave him, he lapped it up. No matter how much I tried to push him away, he came back for more. It was pitiful really. Even now, all it took was watching me stroking myself for his cock to harden to the point that it looked painful._  
  
 _“You’re fucking pathetic, you know that?” I told him. “I’ve barely even touched you yet and you’re hard already. Are you that desperate for my cock that you only have to look at it? Do you like me hurting you so much that I only have to remind you of what I can do to you for you to be hungry for more? You’re such a fucking whore.” I shook my head at him despairing. I trailed my fingers down his body slowly, torturously, down his chest and stomach, avoiding his hard cock and down to tease at his arsehole with two dry fingers._  
  
 _“I need to teach you a lesson or two about self-respect.”_  
  
 **Lambeth, London**  
 **August 2005.**  
l woke to the itch of rope around my wrists and pain threatening to overwhelm my head. I took a moment to take in my surroundings before opening my eyes. I was sat in an upright position, tied to a wooden chair. A strong scent of urine filled my nostrils, making me feel queasy. My head spun with confusion. _Peter…Peter had…knocked me out… Peter? What the fuck? He’d come out of nowhere and knocked me the fuck out…why? What was going on?_  
  
Eventually I opened my eyes and looked around the room. Although I’d never seen it before, I knew it well enough to be Peter’s flat; I recognised enough of the belongings, photographs and furniture. An elderly ginger tom strode proudly past me chased by a small tabby kitten. I noticed drug paraphernalia, needles and blood stains on a dirty sofa and my stomach clenched unpleasantly.  Then I heard a creaking as Peter entered the room.   
  
“Hey baby,” he said, softer and less mocking than he had been earlier in the alleyway.   
  
“Peter-what….how…what…” Words failed me. I couldn’t even get out a sentence. To his credit, he had the common decency to look slightly guilty.   
  
“I know… I’m sorry about all this… I know it’s a bit…much..” he explained.  
  
“A bit MUCH?” I spluttered, but he continued.  
  
“But I just…I didn’t know what else to do. I panicked. And I wanted… I just wanted…” He looked me straight in the eye and began to cross the room, slowly. “I’ve been lonely. Kate is… she’s gorgeous, don’t get me wrong…and such a good fuck…wet tight and just delicious…”  
  
I want to look away but I force myself to hold his gaze, determined to show no weakness.  
  
“But… she’s too easy. Too soft. Too perfect. It’s all too good. And-“ Peter was standing right before me now looking down into my eyes, emotions conflicting desperately. “It’s not working. It just doesn’t work for me. I get off, sure but I still feel that _need_. I crave more… I don’t know what it is that I crave; I just know that I do, all the time. I need and I want and I know it all comes back to you. You know that, don’t you?” He asked me, desperately, his eyes pleading with mine, begging me to understand.   
  
I nodded. I did know. I’d realised long ago that I’d broken him. He’d saved me from self-destruction, given me a purpose and turned my life around. But it had cost him his soul. This was all my fault. I’d destroyed him and now the monster I’d left in his place couldn’t experience pleasure without it being entwined with pain. Just how I’d wanted him to be.   
  
He looked relieved that I understood. I felt sick.   
  
“Will you help me baby? Please…just this once…please give it to me…give me what I need.”  
  
Maybe it was the drugs still flooding through my system. Maybe it was the pitiful look he was giving me, reminding me of how he used to look when he was mine, desperate for me. Maybe I was just a sick perverted fuck. Whatever the reason, I didn’t leave.  I didn’t do what any decent person would do and run back to my loving girlfriend. I didn't send him back to the life he was building away from me, away from the monster who has fucked him up beyong all repair. No, instead I fixed him with my most sultry, cock-hardening smoulder and purred...

  
“Well, I think we might need a change of position…” 


End file.
